Author's Note: Due to the amount of interest expressed in this story, I've decided to continue with it. Here then is Chapter Two, from Snape's point of view.

Chapter Two

Snape had been in the house for some time now, his presence carefully hidden by an extensive disillusionment charm. Taking care to avoid Mad-Eye Moody who was the one person who might have pierced his cover, he stealthily moved from room to room. The witches and wizards scouring through the building worked rapidly to remove all evidence that the Order of the Phoenix had ever resided there. No one had become aware of him.

All of the faces were familiar to him. He'd worked with these people since the night of the Tournament, when the Dark Lord had finally summoned him back. Many he could count as comrades; none he would count as friend. None to whom he'd care to speak – even if he could. Exposing himself to any of them would mean his death...here...in this rotting mausoleum to a dead mongrel and his diseased family.

Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him, and Snape drew aside, into the curtains that covered the portrait wall. He experienced the familiar shiver of revulsion that occurred whenever he was in the presence of the werewolf. Lupin passed him, then made his way to the top of the stairs and called down to the basement kitchen.

"Hermione! How close are you to finishing?"

Snape stared over the werewolf's shoulders and watched for the witch that appeared in the doorway below them – Granger, the insufferable know-it-all, her wild hair restrained with a ribbon, a smile on her face for the man above her.

"I'm done now, Remus, and I'm getting ready to leave."

Remus nodded to her. "All right, then. Don't delay." She gave a quick wave of her hand and disappeared from view. Lupin headed back upstairs.

Perhaps there was someone he wished to speak to after all. Snape made his way down into the kitchen, staying well away from any mischance of physical contact, and watched the girl. Focused on her purpose, her movements efficient, so like the overachieving student in Potions class. He smirked unseen, as she completed her task and gently instructed the assisting house elf to leave.

The elf he vaguely recognized as the one sickeningly devoted to Harry Potter. It scanned the room with anxious eyes, ears twitching. It obviously couldn't see him, but something in the atmosphere of the room had changed and the nervous elf didn't want to leave Hermione behind. Snape listened as she calmed the elf and persuaded it to leave.

As Hermione turned towards the fireplace, he eased his wand out of his robe. Then she paused. Her eyes looked around the room and settled on the table. For a moment she was oblivious, deep in her memories. There was such a look of longing and loss on her face. With a heavy sigh, she turned to go.

His wand slashed through the air and the hearth sealed itself, while at the same time the disillusionment charm around him dissolved. The girl whirled around, her gasp of fear lost in his cry of "Expelliarmus!" and her wand was in his hand.

He took a moment to observe her before speaking. She was pressed back into the wall as if she could will herself through it. Her chest was heaving with the force of her panicked breathing. Her eyes, wide and full of dread, were fixed on his face. Trembling, she was like a frantic bird cornered by a snake.

An apt description. He hesitated, unsure what to say, what would calm her. It was not in his nature to be soothing. Any attempt on his part to be so would no doubt send her into complete hysterics. He contemplated her again. She was getting paler by the second. He took a breath, schooling his features into impassivity, and spoke.

"Miss Granger."

The effect was instantaneous. A look of stark terror appeared on her features as he raised his wand. Clearly she expected to die now...and at his hand.

Movement on the stove and kitchen counter distracted her. She hazarded a quick sideways glance before looking back at him. He observed the conflicting emotions play across her features. He made his request. "I would like a cup of tea," and watched as her mouth fell open. Was she more or less frightened of him now that she thought him mad?

Suddenly impatient, he snapped, "Close your mouth – you look like a simpleton. This is not Newt-level potions, Miss Granger, just a simple cup of tea." He folded his arms and scowled down at her. "You can manage it?"

She fell into the role, addressing him as "Sir" and gathering the tea items on a tray, setting in on the table, waiting for further instructions. He was gratified that she still responded to him as an authority figure. Taking a seat, he gestured to the chair across from him. "You will join me."

He'd overestimated the extent of her fear. She flared up in front of him, an outraged Gryffindor lioness, her words heaping scorn, spitting her disgust at him...traitor...murderer.

"Enough!" It stung. He'd expected it, of course, from all of them. But coming from her, the one person he'd thought might look beyond what had happened, what appeared on the surface. Stupid of him to expect that she wouldn't accept Potter's version. He turned on her in his disappointment and snarled out a command. "Sit down."

The color drained from her face, and she sat silently. When she couldn't bear his scowl any longer, she dropped her eyes. Still furious, he watched as she poured a cup and extended her arm over the table to pass it. Her hand was shaking visibly, the cup rattling against the saucer.

As suddenly as it had come, his anger vanished. Her intellect, her grasp of ideas so beyond her peers, made him sometimes forget her age. She was a girl still...no, looking at her, he could not call her a girl anymore...a young woman, overwhelmed with her fear and grief. He'd expected too much.

They sat without words, drinking the tea. So they'd sat on many nights, when he'd come in late on Order business, and she'd been up. She'd never failed to offer him tea...and to sit with him for a time. There was never much said then, either. Just a feeling that he'd found strangely comfortable, being with her. All gone now.

He kept his eyes and his wand on her. Hermione Granger was a formidable witch, and he preferred to exercise caution, even with her being unarmed. Finally, he spoke. "So Potter has told his story."

That brought her eyes back up to his face, wide, the lashes wet. He saw her face change, and knew what she would ask before she answered him. "Do you deny killing Professor Dumbledore?" How her emotions showed in her face – disbelief, hope, sorrow. How could he answer her? Denial was not possible. His reasons not believable. She would not understand, could never forgive what he'd done.

"I deny nothing."

The silence stretched between them again. He kept watching her face. Something, some thought was moving through her mind. She looked at him suddenly with such compassion in her eyes, that he felt as if she'd burned him. And then – "Professor, you've served two masters for so long. Is it easier to serve only one?"

This, then, the opening he'd been wanting, waiting for. Could he make her understand, spark the flame that would inspire her to investigate further? This remarkable woman would stand against opposing opinions if she felt her cause was right. He'd seen her do it, again and again.

He laughed. How ironic that he should choose the student who had been the bane of his existence for nearly seven years to act as his champion. His laugh had startled her. His answer surprised her even more. "You are wrong, Miss Granger. I serve two masters...now more than ever."

He forgot to watch her as the ramifications of his own statement ate at the gaping wound inside him. He was still bound, by promises made against his will. Two masters – both had demanded the ultimate expression of his loyalty. One who commanded that no effort be spared to keep him alive. The other – that the lives of everyone else, even a troubled student, be saved, to the extent of sacrificing his own life. And now, the one constant in his miserable life, the one person to whom he could go – for anything – was gone. And he had been the instrument of his destruction. The ache threatened to overwhelm him, and he thrust himself away from the table violently, coming to his feet. Across from him, Hermione stood up in response, obviously frightened by his sudden move.

"Come with me." He wanted her gone, before she could see how close he was to breaking down. A quick movement of his wand, and the hearth opened to her. "Get the floo powder, Miss Granger. It is time for you to leave."

She reached for the powder, took a handful, and still she hesitated. He wanted her gone...now...right now. He scowled at her, "What is it?"

"Professor, you came here alone...to make sure we'd all escaped before you revealed this place to the others...didn't you?"

Sweet gods, she knew, she understood. He was sorely tempted to pull her into his arms and hold her, tell her that she was right, that he hadn't turned his back on the light as everyone believed. Everyone but her, now. Only his years of experience as a spy enabled him to keep his face impassive, his voice dry. "You'd better leave before I lose my patience, Miss Granger."

She stepped into the fireplace, and turned to look at him. He handed her back her wand, and found himself holding the hand he pressed it into for just a moment longer than necessary. She was staring up at him; it was more than he could bear.

"Now!" he snapped.

The powder was dropped, her voice rang out clearly, "Hogwarts!" He stared into the flames that erupted around her, and found himself calling after her vanishing form, "Ten points to Gryffindor."

The empty hearth mocked him. A futile gesture – she couldn't have heard him. He turned away, but paused next to the table and allowed himself to take in the two settings. A wave of his wand and everything disappeared. He squared his shoulders, and moved from the room, mentally rehearsing how he'd present Grimmauld Place to the Dark Lord, for it was now just an empty building.

To be continued...

Coming Soon: Reaction in the Order to Hermione's reappearance.

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